


The Horrors and Pains of Dating Apps

by confessionsofachocoholic



Series: Carry On Countdown - 2019 [4]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, COC - 2019 - DAY 29: Firsts, Crushes, First Dates, Hand Kisses, Inappropriate Humor If You Blink, M/M, Past Rivalry, dating apps, graphic depictions of hand holding, spoiler free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21914815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confessionsofachocoholic/pseuds/confessionsofachocoholic
Summary: Carry On Countdown - 2019 - DAY 29: Firsts
Relationships: Fiona Pitch & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow, Simon Snow & Agatha Wellbelove, Simon Snow/Agatha Wellbelove - past, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Carry On Countdown - 2019 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555441
Comments: 8
Kudos: 66
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2019





	The Horrors and Pains of Dating Apps

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this was written pre Wayward Son for one of my closest friend's Birthday…  
> It wasn't something I was initially planning on posting, but it fit the prompt and idk I might make it into a series - because that was the initial concept of this piece, for it to be a series focused on all the mishaps of using dating apps… so if that interests you, lemme know…

** Baz  **

Sleep is a struggle I can’t seem to tackle tonight. I take my phone out and check the god-awful dating app I signed up to only a month or two ago. The whole affair has been bloody dreadful and yet I can’t seem to stop using it, which is pathetic.

I swipe through various profiles, knowing exactly how pointless it is, but it is an effective boredom killer if nothing else…

I come across an _exceedingly_ familiar face – not for the first time but still – and I can’t help but click on it and read the bio, shocked to my very core.

It’s definitely him. Bronze curls, blue eyes, constellations of moles. And the most atrocious spelling and grammar to grace the Earth.

This is the very definition of a bad idea; so of course because I’m tired and vaguely masochistic, I swipe right.

** Simon  **

I almost have a heart attack when I see the notification. When I read the name on the profile I’m certain it must be a catfish. I type out a simple **_hi_** and wait for a reply; because as annoying as catfish are I love to fuck with them a little before blocking them – Penny rolls her eyes and calls it ‘a juvenile form of entertainment’ but she also helps me come up with incredibly fucked-up questions to ask, so…

I hear a ping and read the message…

**_‘hi’? Really, Snow?_ **

I don’t have my last name on my profile, so I reply.

**_Baz is that really u?_ **

The next message comes through so quickly I jump when I hear the notification; I turn my mobile on silent.

**_Of course it is you fucking numpty._ **

Oh for fucks sake. I almost forgot how much of a shitty person he was – gorgeous yes, but still shitty.

**_Ur profile says ur name is Ty tho?_ **

****

**_Duh. It’s the shortened form of my first_ **

**_name._ **

****

**_Ok?_ **

****

**_Look, people know me by my middle name._ **

**_I’d prefer for this not to come up if anyone_ **

**_Googles me…_ **

****

**_Y would any1 Google u?_ **

****

**_Job interviews, FBI investigation, etc._ **

****

****

**_FBI?! Wtf kinda illegil shit r u_ **

**_doin Baz??!_ **

****

**_That was a joke, Snow._ **

**_School’s over do you_ **

**_honestly think I’m still plotting?_ **

****

**_… u don’t want me to answer that…_ **

****

****

**_It’s been two. Fucking. Years. Snow!_ **

**_Not to mention this is the last place_ **

**_I expected to find you!_ **

****

**_Wait… this is a dating app…_ **

****

**_No shit, Sherlock._ **

****

**_Dont b a dick..._ **

****

**_You’re on here, I somewhat assumed_ **

**_that dicks wouldn’t be much of an issue…_ **

****

I can’t help it I laugh so hard it turns to _tears_.

** Baz  **

The conversation was going quite smoothly, but when Snow leaves me on _read_ I start to wonder if maybe I said the wrong thing… Well I guess that’s why you don’t try to make conversations with your former roommate who accused you of plotting because you were socially inept around him, partly due to an _extremely_ confusing crush on afore-mentioned roommate that you never really got over. I reach back for my phone again even though it’s painfully obvious how stupid it is. I’m surprised when I see a new message, but it’s not from Snow.

**_Hello stranger,_ **

**_you should know you’ve reduced_ **

**_my roommate to tears of laughter._ **

****

**_Tell Snow I meant what I said._ **

****

**_Okay, first of all HE WOKE ME UP!_ **

**_And secondly, that dumbass better not_ **

**_be giving his last name over the internet._ **

**_If you plan on hurting my best friend_ **

**_keep in mind that I’m getting a degree_ **

**_in criminology and I’m top of the fucking_ **

**_class, so I wouldn’t fuck with me_ **

**_if I were you._ **

****

I laugh, a juvenile snorty laugh.

**_Wait... Is that you Bunce?_ **

****

**_Who’s asking?_ **

****

**_Baz Pitch, from Watford Academy._ **

****

**_Don’t give your last name out_ **

**_over the internet, you dolt._ **

**_And yeah, this is Penny._ **

****

**_That’s all your going to say about_ **

**_this?_ **

****

**_Hey this is Simon again._ **

**_Ur really funny Baz,_ **

**_funnier than u were in skool :)_ **

****

**_Snow, one day someone will_ **

**_have a stroke after receiving_ **

**_a message from you._ **

****

**_Um… if their an old man sure,_ **

**_but I plan 2 wait and see if im still_ **

**_single @ 30 b4 I bcome a sugar-baby._ **

****

**_Have fun with that, Snow._ **

****

**_Pfft sure… its a last choice…_ **

**_And your first choice?_ **

**_Um an actully luving relashonship??_ **

**_im nackered, imma sleep. Gn Baz… xo_ **

**_Terrible grammar aside,_ **

**_I hope you find what you’re_ **

**_looking for. Night, Snow._ **

****

I fall asleep with an impossibly sappy grin on my face.

***

** Simon  **

I wake up to the lovely warmth of the Sun on my face. Baz used to hiss when I opened our curtains back at Watford, like _actually_ hiss. Then I’d call him a vampire. And he’d call me a nuisance. I can’t help but chuckle at the memory.

Speaking of Baz, I check my mobile and send him a message.

**_Good morning! :)_ **

****

**_You’re still talking to me?_ **

****

I feel a slight surge of dread; I’ve probably misread the situation. Shit.

**_Do u not want me 2??_ **

****

**_No, just surprised. I mean,_ **

**_we weren’t exactly besties_ **

**_back at Watford. But if you_ **

**_insist on making friendship_ **

**_bracelets and braiding each_ **

**_other’s hair I’m not going to_ **

**_deny you of that…_ **

****

****

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and laugh.

**_My hair isnt desined to b_ **

**_braided but sure ;)_ **

****

**_Don’t try being cute with me,_ **

**_it doesn’t work on me…_ **

****

**_Im not cute… im adorable,_ **

**_big fkn difference ;)_ **

****

**_Oh yes, of course. My bad…_ **

****

**_How bout we go for coffee,_ **

**_u kno so u can make it up_ **

**_2 me ;)_ **

****

**_You make a compelling_ **

**_argument… Sure._ **

****

**_2morrow?_ **

****

**_I’ve got a ridiculous number_ **

**_of uni lectures on tomorrow…_ **

**_Thursday?_ **

****

**_Ok! Sounds g!!_ **

***

** Baz **

I glance at my reflection in the mirror, wondering if I should change into something else for the umpteenth time this morning. I hear a loud knock on my bedroom door.

“Come in.” I say and the door creeks open. My Aunt Fiona gives me a questioning look as she jumps on top of my bed like an absolute fucking heathen – I’m too nervous to send a _get-the-fuck-off-my-bed_ glare in her direction.

“Have you met a bloke, Basil?” She asks.

“No.” I say plainly.

“Uh-huh, so all _this_ ,” she waves a hand in my direction, “couldn’t possibly be to impress some hopeless bastard who had the misfortune to cross paths with you?”

“Look, I didn’t _meet_ him exactly,” I pause, “he’s someone I went to school with, we had a chance encounter online; we’re catching up for coffee and a chat and _that’s it_. It’s _not_ a date.”

“‘ _It’s_ not _a date_.’” Fiona says in a whiny high-pitched voice that sounds nothing like me and scoffs. “My _arse_ it’s not a _date_ , Basil. For someone who graduated as the _fucking dux_ of Watford, you’re exceedingly obtuse.”

“Would you care to enlighten me then?”

“Look, he asked you out for coffee?” She asks.

“Yes, but it’s not-”

“Of course it’s a fucking date, Basil!” Fiona exclaims throwing her arms up in an overly dramatic gesture. “‘ _Let’s go for coffee_ ’ is pretty much code for ‘ _I am single and down to bone_ ’.”

“Fuck’s sake, Fi,” I shout, “Must you be so crass?”

“Hey, don’t blame me for doing God’s work, boyo,” she retorts, “let’s face it, Baz – you’re a miserable little emo shut-in who needs to get laid.”

“I’m a virgin!” I say undignified.

“Yes, that’s the exact point I’m trying to make!”

“Well maybe,” my voice drops down to a whisper, “I’d like to have a meaningful relationship before I – ahem – let someone get into my pants.”

“Suit yourself,” Fiona shrugs then makes a face, “I just don’t get the fuss over this sort of thing. Feelings are a tad too messy for my liking. Getting attached to someone? Yikes, no thanks.”

I go turn back to face the mirror and frown.

“Are you sure it’s not a date?”

“Yes,” I sigh dejectedly, “I’m pretty sure.”

“But you like him?” It’s a question, but Fiona’s giving me a look that tells me she’s already made up her mind about the answer. No point lying then…

“Yes.”

Fiona glances over at me with an odd mixture of concern and curiosity, but instead of lecturing me she simply says,

“Basil, quit fussing over your outfit. You look fine, and if this bloke isn’t impressed, he’s an absolute moron who’s not worth your time.”

***

** Simon **

I’m late for coffee with Baz. Honestly fuck this weather, the rain is such a pain in the arse that I think I finally understand why Aggie moved all the way to California where the sun is apparently always fucking shining.

I burst through the door of the café, feeling impossibly frazzled and no doubt looking like a drowned rat. I frantically try to get my brolly to fucking close, but much like the rest of this morning it’s decided to be terribly insufferable. When I finally get it shut, I shove it in a basket with various others.

I’m raking a hand through my curls – which have frizzed up to maximum capacity, which is just fan- _fucking_ -tastic – self-consciously when I spot Baz at a table across the room watching me with an amused smirk and one eyebrow raised. Of course _his_ hair is perfect. It’s not constrained by copious amounts of hair gel like he always styled it back at Watford, in fact it’s loose and falling in a lazy wave over his forehead – obviously wind tousled but still _bloody_ perfect.

I make my way over to him and take a seat at the table, my boots squeak a little but I don’t trip over my own feet. (Miraculously.)

“H-hey, Baz,” I stammer. Well isn’t that just bloody _brilliant._ “Sorry I’m late.”

“Quite alright, Snow,” Baz says, “you certainly know how to make an entrance.”

“Like you can talk,” I say, chuckling and shaking my head, “remember eighth year?”

“How could I forget?” He asks. “ _You_ sent furniture flying and Wellbelove destroyed excruciatingly expensive crockery. What ever happened between you two? I’m pretty sure everyone thought the pair of you were going to ride off into the sunset together and live happily ever after.”

“Well we actually broke up before you came back for eighth year,” I begin to explain, “she realised she was aro-ace and that her feelings for me were purely platonic and I confided in her when I was going through my own sexuality crisis. We never really disclosed the breakup so everyone just kind of assumed we were still together ‘cause of – what did Penny call it again? Oh yeah that’s right – _heteronormative societal expectations._ ”

Baz’s jaw drops in shock. Rendering Basilton Pitch speechless isn’t an everyday occurrence; I feel a warm sense of pride bubbling in my chest at the achievement.

“But, you went to the leavers ball together.” Baz looks at me like his entire world is imploding.

“Yeah, but as friends.” I say.

“You spent the entire evening stepping on her toes.” He points out; only I don’t think it’s intended to be malicious.

“Ah yes, until you whisked her away onto the dance-floor. Remind me what it was you asked her again?”

“I believe it was something along the lines of; ‘Wellbelove, would you care to dance with someone who doesn’t have two left feet?’”

“Hmm, that sounds about right,” I nod.

Suddenly one of the wait-staff is setting a plate of scones – and I’m pretty sure they’re sour cherry, my favourite kind. I look down at the scones, then at Baz who’s thanking the waitress as she sets down a drink topped with whipped cream. My mouth is hanging open; Baz once again raises an eyebrow.

“Close your mouth, Snow,” he says with a smirk, “you’ll catch flies.”

“B-but the scones.” I stutter, still not understanding.

“Yes I went to the liberty of ordering them for you,” Baz explains, “you’re welcome, Snow.”

“You remembered.” I say, pleasantly surprised.

** Baz **

“Of course I did,” I huff, as he begins buttering the scones, “you only shovelled millions of them into your face every time we had afternoon tea; not to mention all those other times you’d sneak mountains of the damned things _and_ an honest-to-god butter dish back up to our room.”

“Oh, says you, Mr. I-eat-salt-and-vinegar-crisps-as-a-midnight-snack,” Snow pouts, “I don’t think I even once saw you with a breakout of spots.”

“It’s called having a skincare routine, Snow,” I roll my eyes, “I used to buy snacks in bulk throughout the year and keep it all hidden, whereas you were smuggling your loot openly. Not that I would have told you at the time but I was secretly a little impressed by that; that and the fact that every baked good made it safely to our room at the fucking _top floor_ of Mummers’ unscathed, you used to be a bit of a klutz.”

“ _Used to_?” Snow snorts adorably. “Did you not see my less than graceful entrance?”

“Look,” I say, “you didn’t trip on your way into this lovely establishment so I think I’d call that an improvement.”

“I think I’ve really just grown out of my awkward stage,” he continues, “like how the ugly duckling turned into a swan…”

“Please, Snow,” I say, “you were never an ugly duckling.”

“Correction; _you_ were never an ugly duckling.” Snow retorts around a scone, much to my disbelief – at both his statement and hideous table manners. “You were always so perfect – snobby and uptight but still _bloody_ perfect. I couldn’t stand it.”

“Oh, Snow,” I can barely contain my laughter, “I think you’re conveniently forgetting the fact that I wore fucking _braces_ the entirety of fifth year.”

“Hmm, no I actually do remember that; it drove me up the bloody wall that you _still_ managed to look fit with braces.” This confession from Snow makes me squirm with giddiness; I shake my head in a fruitless attempt to will the emotion away, but the result has nothing to do with deterring my emotions and everything to do with making my hair fall in my face. I push it all out of my face and resort to tucking a particularly stubborn lock behind my ear.

“You thought I was fit?” I ask a little self-consciously.

“Well, yeah obviously,” he gives me a sheepish look, “you still are.”

Is he flirting with me? No. Snow’s never been one to shy away from speaking his mind – when he manages to get the words out – but that doesn’t mean he meant it like _that_.

Flirting is a liars’ game and Snow is as earnest as they come. He’s always been genuinely kind to everyone he meets; he was even quite gentle with me back when we first became roommates because he thought I was shy, then I shot down his attempts at friendship and he realised I was not in fact shy, but as he so tastefully phrased it, ‘ _a snooty prick’_. Then again we did reunite via a dating app, so it’s probably not a completely implausible concept is it? I _could_ probably just ask whether or not he was flirting, but that also means I might scare him off if he wasn’t and then it’ll be awkward and it would be my entire fault for ruining the one conversation I’ve had with Simon Snow that was actually pleasant and free of hostility.

“Baz, are you okay?” Si- Snow’s voice breaks me out of my stupor.

“Ah, um- yeah I’m fine.” I say shaking my head again.

“You sure?”

“Of course,” I say, pushing my hair out of my face again and playing with it absentmindedly, “just spaced out for a moment there.”

“Okay,” Snow sighs in relief and chuckles breathily, “thought I broke you for a second there.”

“Please, Snow, I’m not made of glass,” the next words come out of my mouth before I can stop them, “you’d have to work hard to break me.”

Snow tilts his head and furrows his brows. Ah yes, I’ve royally cocked this one up haven’t I?

“Hey… Um, Baz?” Snow manages to ask before I can begin to explain myself. Fuck.

“Yes, Snow?” I gulp nervously and attempt to brace myself for a poorly worded yet heartfelt rejection.

“I’m kinda terrible at reading people, so uh… Are you flirting with me?”

“That, um… just slipped out?” I attempt.

“You’re avoiding the question, Baz.” Snow deadpans.

“I’m actually not completely sure,” I admit, “I’ve never really – shit this is embarrassing – _dated_ anyone. I mean, sure I’ve been on dates – but they just always felt forced.”

“So this is definitely a date.”

“Do you want it to be?” I ask.

“Yes.” He nods his head determinedly.

** Simon **

“You want this too, right?” I ask. It’s always good to confirm these things.

“What does _‘this’_ entail exactly?”

“Well for now, a date and after this if you’re still interested we could go on more.” Baz waves his hand as if to say ‘go on’, I do. “And, well, I’d like to be your boyfriend, if you’d have me. Just to warn you, I could be completely terrible at it… Because in the past I never thought I could get a bloody thing right-”

“Simon.” Baz said my name, which he’s never done before I don’t know whether it’s a good or bad thing. His gaze is strong and maybe it means that he wants this too or maybe it means he’s going to reject me so mercilessly that I pass out from the sheer ruthlessness of his words.

“Yes, Baz?” I hold my breath, my heart pounding in anticipation for his reply.

“You can stop fretting,” the corners of Baz’s lips quirk up slightly, “I’d like to go out with you.”

“Really?” I ask confused. Baz is interested in me enough to _date_ me? This _must_ be a dream, a strangely pleasant one where my former roommate – the same former roommate I only recently realised I may have had a not-so-tiny crush on – instead of being a complete arse, is talking to me civilly and returning my feelings.

“Really, Snow.”

** Baz **

“You called me ‘Simon’ before.” Snow teases.

“No I didn’t.”

“Did so.” He grins playfully.

“Did _not_.” I insist.

“Oh, you did too. I liked it.” Snow has the sweetest expression on his face.

“ _Simon_ ,” I say, “you’re being idiotic.”

“And you’re being too coy for your own good.” Simon rests his arm on the table the palm of his hand offered to me like I’m fucking fragile and delicate and he thinks he’s going to _scare_ me off. I’m a little offended by this.

“Who’s being too coy for their own good now?” I ask as I brush the freezing cold tips of my fingers against Simon’s perfectly warm ones.

He slides his fingers under my palm then wraps his whole hand around the breadth of my fingers before bringing my hand close to his lips. Simon doesn’t kiss my hand, just holds it tauntingly close to his face. I feel every single puff of breath that escapes his lips and the _slightest_ tug of the air when he inhales. Mouth breather.

I stroke his pinkie-finger experimentally with my thumb and he gently caresses my knuckles with his lips. Simon peers up at me with a soft look in his plain-blue eyes, but his gaze is firm as if to ask _is this okay?_ I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and give him a small nod.

The press of his lips to my hand is warm, sweet, tender and over much too soon. Before I can begin to protest the perfect arrangement of words leave Simon’s mouth.

“Let’s get out of here.”


End file.
